Turbulence
by Golden Snowflake
Summary: What happens when a diabolical Irken and a spastic teenage nerd end up getting seated together on an airplane? Well, the world is about to find out.


- Chapter 1 -

-xxx-

"Oh- that's me!"

"Okay, honey. Love you!"

"I love you too," I replied, springing from my seat and gripping my bag. "Bye."

"Bye!"

Giving a shuddery, short sigh, I grinned like an idiot. Slapping my phone shut, I dropped it inside and zipped it up. This was it- the first time I'd ever been on a flight by myself. And at the other end waited a convention at which I could concrete my future.

Wahoo!

The gruff echo of the man announcing that class B was now boarding filled the room once again, and a middle-aged woman was helping an older lady gather up her belongings. The guy who had been sitting beside me snapped his magazine shut and strode by. He secured his place in line before I'd taken two steps.

Today was a dreary Friday, and the muted rumble of planes taking off topped off the frenetic energy the airport was filled with. Continuing my idiot-like beaming, I walked toward the gate and pulled my ticket out of my pocket. I hopped into the line between two giggling teens and a round guy who stopped in line behind me.

The line was dispersed quickly, and a small, blonde woman took the ticket from my hand, scanned the barcode under a swarm of hypnotically dancing red lights, and handed me back a small stub from my original slip of paper. "Enjoy your flight," she said in an upbeat, rehearsed voice.

"I will!" I practically frolicked down the passageway to the plane.

The hiss of air pressure and the roar of the idling engines made the flimsy, carpeted floor rattle as the wide, collapsible hallway shrank to a small rectangular door. The gaggle of people burping babies and straightening ties re-formed here, and the pilot and a stewardess smiled and greeted us all as we shuffled through the opening one by one.

"Welcome to Eastwest Airlines. Enjoy your flight!"

"Thanks." I smiled and nodded, and peeked one more time at my ticket stub. 35 B. The row numbers were big and black on the sides of the uncomfortably tight chairs, and I waited for the people ahead of me to take their seats, my eyes fixed on the spot designated as mine.

I plopped down in my seat, sighing with relief. The wing was just ahead of my row, and the swatch of sky I could see was pale out the window. I tucked my bag into my lap and fumbled around for the seatbelt, which probably wasn't the best order to do that in, but after a moment of awkward floundering and yanking I got myself strapped in.

About two minutes into my attempt to peek at the people sitting ahead of me, I was startled. "Uh, excuse me."

"Oh!" I looked up to see a kid holding a small briefcase close to his side. He was wearing a long, black button-down jacket and thin glasses. He blinked at me with amber eyes.

"I have seat 35 A," he explained.

"Oh, go right ahead." I tucked my legs in close and smashed my bag against my stomach to let the tall, slender boy through. He set himself down lightly beside me, letting off an apprehensive breath and glancing out the window.

Something about the awkward way he had carried himself made my usual inclination to be intimidated disappear. Clearing my throat, I squeezed my purse to keep from getting nervous.

"It's awfully dreary today," I said, peering past him at the window to make my point.

"Oh-" he looked as well, then looked back at me, pulling his coat off of his shoulders and undoing the scarf that was tight around his neck. "Yeah. It is, isn't it?"

"So where are you going?"

"Uh…" Attempting to situate himself, he folded his coat in his lap, the shiny briefcase glinting from beneath it. "To a convention."

"Really?" I felt myself smile. "Me too!"

"The Mysterious Mysteries convention?" He leaned forward, looking excited.

"No," I replied, disappointed. "A writer's convention."

"Oh." He smiled and nodded. "Cool."

He looked at his feet, wringing his hands. I took a deep breath, telling myself that the only way to overcome shyness was to SAY IT, SAY IT, SAY IT NOW, DAMMIT-

"I'm Mia."

Startled, he looked up at me as I extended my hand.

His skin was cold and smooth as he shook. "Dib."

The babies were howling and old ladies were cackling and a grumpy business man was yelling into his phone. "I hope they serve peanuts," I heard myself saying, like a ditsy lunatic. "I love the peanuts they serve on airplanes."

"I don't eat much on flights," Dib said softly. "I always get nervous."

"Because you're afraid of airplanes?"

"No, I like flying. What scares me is the flock of giant turkey buzzards witnesses say have been rumored to fly around plane altitudes."

"Oh," I said.

He stared at me seriously.

"Uh… I forgot to shut my phone off." Unzipping and digging through my bag, I broke eye contact and fished through tissues and old grocery lists. I felt an odd sense of peace at having finally encountered someone more strange than myself. (It rarely happens.)

A static-filled voice mumbled something over the intercom and the chatty people added sprinkles of sound on top of the dull roar of the plane heating up, scooting around and stuffing luggage into the overhead compartments.

"Is this row 35?"

I looked up to see a young, slim teen with a swatch of thick black hair and violet (colored contacts?) eyes. "Yep," I replied cheerily, and he stuffed his carry-on into the shelf overhead and smoothly took his seat.

It was now that I noticed the peculiar noises coming from Dib's general direction.

"Nnnngh… nnnn… guhhh-!"

Alarmed, I stared at my row-companion, blinking. "What's wrong?"

Dib pointed at the newcomer, an expression of pure shock on his face.

Looking in the direction in which his finger was aimed, I found the black-haired kid facing forward, staring disinterestedly at the back of the seat in front of him.

"What's the matter?" I asked again in a hushed voice. "Please don't point!"

When I gently tried to push his hand down he jabbed his index finger in the air once more. "Nnngh- ZIM!"

Bewildered and horrified, I looked back at the boy with purple eyes. He fixed Dib in an annoyed stare, his hands rested on the armrests of the seat. "What is this 'Zim' you speak of? My name is Harold, and I hail from the mighty empire known as Cincinnati."

"GUH," Dib spat in reply.

"What's wrong?" I pressed, putting my hand on Dib's slender arm. A few people were staring now, and the last thing I needed was for everyone to think my seat-partner was having a manic episode. "Dib?"

"It's _him_," he hissed, grabbing my hand and fixing me in a panic-stricken stare. "Zim."

Turning back toward the newcomer, I said, "Harold?"

The kid narrowed an eye in confusion before blinking, responding with, "Oh, yes. I am Harold and you have requested an audience with me."

"Yes. Um, do you know something about a… "zim"?" I was quickly becoming exasperated with Dib's death-grip on my arm.

"I do not," the kid said, voice declarative in pitch. "My name is Harold and I'm a perfectly normal human. DON'T TOUCH ME."

Startled, I retracted my hand. Dib kept on making noises, squeezing the circulation from my left arm. "Sorry, uhhh… I'm… Mia."

"It's nice to meet you, Mia." I forced a grin while attempting to pry the slender fingers off of my bicep. "Sorry I can't touch your putrid hand. It's a skin condition."

"Oh." I pretended to rub my nose, inconspicuously sniffing my fingers. Putrid? But I had hand lotion on…

"Who is the filthy big-headed thing severing your upper left appendage?"

"This is… Dib," I said, turning my face to the raven-haired individual. "Dib, this is Harold." I hardened the last syllable, attempting to convey to him that he'd better play nice.

"No, that is _not_ Harold." Dib fixed me in a penetrating stare. "That is _Zim,_ and he's an alien bent on destroying mankind as we know it."

Looking back at the slim greenish boy, I blinked. "Uhhhhh…"

Harold blinked at me expectantly.

"Excuse my friend, he's having a bad day."

Grunting in response, the slender boy said, "It is understandable. The smelly human boy can't help that he's a sniveling fool."

Befuddled, I nodded once, then turned back to Dib.

"Dib. _Dib_. Let go." I clenched my fist, making my hand tingle. I leaned closer, uttering through my teeth, "Let _go_, Dib."

"Mia, listen to me. He's an alien invader and he wants to eradicate the human race."

Meeting his urgent stare with as much patience as I could muster, I replied, "Whether he is or isn't, you have to calm down or you'll get kicked off the plane."

"But he's probably trying to sabotage my trip to the convention!" he whispered frantically.

"Why?"

"Because he hates me!"

I peeked over my shoulder at Harold, who was staring at the back of the seat ahead of him once more.

I looked back at the skinny adolescent on my left. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"How can I be sure that you're in touch with reality?"

"Your name is Mia and you like peanuts."

"What day of the week is it?"

"Friday the 8th."

"What color is my underwear?"

"Wh- how would I know?"

"Okay, you pass."

When a moment of quiet settled in save for muffled chatting and the loudening rumble of the engines, Dib peered over my shoulder and glared furiously. I turned around to find Harold shaking his fist, teeth bared. He immediately scrambled back into a sitting position and stared at the back of the seat.

I leaned over, lessening the gap between my mouth and the agitated boy's ear. In a hushed voice I whispered, "His name is Zim?"

"Yeah," Dib responded. For a split second his eyes darted away and I almost thought his face reddened slightly.

I shifted my eyes to "Harold" again and he was staring at me. He blinked and looked away quickly.

A blot of static came over the speakers before a deep voice mumbled "Thank you for choosing Eastwest Airlines this Friday afternoon. The weekend is almost upon us and we'll do our best to get you to your destination as promptly and conveniently as possible." He continued to explain the locations of the exits, and a pretty flight attendant appeared out of nowhere with a plastic smile, gesturing at whatever he began to mumble about.

With Dib still latched onto my arm, I shifted in my seat, clearing my throat. "Harold?"

"SILENCE!"

I jumped, startled. He was watching the attendant with great fascination. As I watched him he pulled a small device out of his pocket and began to write on the screen with a stylus.

"He's gonna destroy the plane," Dib hissed through his teeth. We have to do something!"

"If he dies he won't be able to rule the world, right?" He nodded, his eyes flickering away. "Then he's not going to do anything to the plane. Just relax."

The craft began to rumble, all but overpowering the electronic crackle of the pilot's voice.

"This is exciting."

I looked at Harold/Zim, surprised.

"I've never been on an aircraft that stays in a planet's atmosphere before."

"You haven't?"

He looked at me with his big purple eyes, shaking his head.

"How… cool," I tried to exclaim.

"Cool _indeed_," he agreed, his voice oddly emphatic on the final word.

Now the plane rolled into a slow, humming move backward. I hopped in surprise, then looked automatically toward the window to watch the movement. Dib caught my eyes, an uneasy look to his stance and his expression.

"Yellow-haired female?"

After a moment it occurred to me that I matched this description. Turning to the greenish boy, I found him blinking his huge eyes at me. "What? My name is Mia."

"Yes. How long until this craft launches? Is your technology really this primitive?"

"Uh… it usually takes a few minutes."

"Hmm." He stared at me a moment longer, then looked away.

Turning back to face the other direction, I exchanged a glance with Dib. A baby cooed and its mother laughed in the seat behind us, and I looked out the window as our plane lumbered onto the runway.


End file.
